


a day, a month, a year or thirty

by klutzysurgeon



Category: Bleach
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Lowercase
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 19:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9919217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klutzysurgeon/pseuds/klutzysurgeon
Summary: 30 small drabbles based onthis tumblr promptfor the HitsuMatsu pairing. From beginning to the end, brief insights of their life, their relationship, the wars and all they brought.





	

**Author's Note:**

> lmao I'm not even into Bleach anymore ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I had this like 80% completed in my drafts from a year or two ago so I just filled in the few missing prompts and figured I'd post it. Sorry if it isn't terribly cohesive or anything! It's really just a bunch of rambling. They're such an interesting pairing, aren't they?

_1\. beginning_  
it’s funny, looking back. a look into how they met, the fear and dedication and power in one small body. a look into the academy, dull and skipped through with visits he didn't expect. a look into squad ten, a ridiculous captain and he swears it was coincidence he landed on her squad but it never was. small shoulders wear the captain's haori proudly and it feels like a beginning all over again.  
  
_2\. accusation_  
almost like she's allergic to paperwork, he accuses, and her laugh echoes through the office like music. it's almost funny, how easily they fall into their bickering, his expression alive if only with agitation.  
  
_3\. restless_  
busy hands, skittering across paper or slashing through the air, the thrum of his fingers a clear giveaway of agitation when he's forced to pause. he doesn't rush, but he doesn't let himself rest, always pushing forward. he has to. a prodigy living up to his name. restless, restless. don't you know? stress stunts growth.  
  
_4\. snowflake_  
rangiku's never put much thought into the weather before, but if you asked her now, she would say she loves winter days, scarves and gentle snowflakes and the way they look dancing around the boy who pretends to be ice even as he shoves a hot chocolate into her hands, muttering about keeping warm.  
  
_5\. haze_  
somewhere along the line, the days blurred together. she can clearly remember the little boy with fear and potential in his eyes, and she can see her captain before her now, fierce and proud, the fear nowhere to be found in bright turquoise eyes. but she can't remember when it was he started calling her matsumoto instead of lieutenant– when he was made captain, or before? she can't quite remember when their bickering became banter, or when she memorized the brand of his favorite green tea. she can't quite remember when the office felt like home enough to fall asleep in but she thinks that this kind of haze is alright; she's content to get lost in familiarity.  
  
_6\. flame_  
she finds it humorous that the best way to describe her captain is fiery, but he is. he tries to be like ice, tries to turn his gaze to frost and his resolve to crystal but his heart is too warm and his drive too fiery for him to slip away into the cool detachment he thinks he wants. she thinks he's just afraid of how easy fire can burn– how easy his powers can harm, how vulnerable feelings leave you– but that's alright with her. she has nothing to fear from fire anyway; fire only turns things to ashes, and ashes she knows well.  
  
_7\. formal_  
he doesn't believe that formality has to imply detachment. he really doesn't understand why hinamori insists on calling him hitsugaya-kun, why it took nearly a decade to move on from shiro-chan, why she always conveniently forgets to call him captain. though he will never admit it, a part of him does like it, the part still staring out at a sunset, the sweet stickiness of watermelon on his lips. but the other part is reminded that she's the only one who called him shiro-chan, the only one who spoke to him at all and he just wants to move on, just wants to be captain, just wants to push forward as he's always done, a position hard fought for that has no negative attachments. rangiku calls him captain the very moment he slips on the haori and all his memories of being captain hitsugaya are of scarves and loyalty and soft blue eyes that always saw potential in him and he thinks he likes captain hitsugaya better than shiro-chan.  
  
_8\. companion_  
opposites attract, opposites balance. they don't find it surprising how easily they work together, if only because they've never actually given it thought, flowing together as easily as water in a lake, as the air in and out of their lungs. in battle, in office, in rare downtimes. she brings dinner into the office on a night he's working late and they don't even realize, won't realize until years later when they look back and marvel at how easy it was, companionable silence broken by the scritch of his pen and her gentle humming.  
  
_9\. move_  
everything happens so suddenly, the world speeding up even though it feels like it's barely moving at all. he wonders if hinamori will wake up and she wonders what she could've done to make gin stay and it's no surprise, no surprise at all when they find themselves alone in an office neither of them remembers walking to. the silence isn’t comfortable but it's the first time that day they haven't felt like screaming and that's good enough. there aren't any words to speak so they sit, together on the small futon, pressed together as if to hold the other up as they gather up the strength to move on. the world waits for no one.  
  
_10\. silver_  
she used to find it funny how the only two people in her life that really mattered shared the same hair color, but now she doesn't find silver very funny anymore, silver hair and silver snakes and something just out of arm's reach. its weeks before she dreams of snow, before she dreams of anything besides sly smiles on sad faces and she wakes with the startling realization that her captains hair is such a drastically different color she doesn't know how she ever likened them at all.  
  
_11\. prepared_  
so they train. they train, and train their hearts out. they weren't ready this time. they have to be ready next time. neither of them can handle anymore grief right now, nightmares and dark circles and sleeping herbs borrowed from squad four. hitsugaya switches his favorite brand of green tea to discount decaf almost as if a punishment and the liquor store wonders if rangiku is alright, her absence a noticeable dent in their sales. they weren't ready this time. they wonder if they ever will be.  
  
_12\. knowledge_  
realization comes slowly, in the form of protectiveness and comfort, in how her favorite season is winter and his favorite color is her hair, in how his birthday became as important as her own and he really does listen to every silly thing she says, long after kira has tuned out (or passed out, as the sake may have it) and it's terrifying in its simplicity.  
  
13\. denial  
it's not a conscious thing, and that might be the worst thing, the casual disregard as if they just don't know how to do anything else. it might not be a bad thing, but it might ruin everything, so they ignore and push past and if their gazes linger a little too long, neither will say so.  
  
_14\. wind_  
change is coming, though all of the seireitei seems to ignore it. they are too, in a way. ignoring it because they don’t know how to face it. that substitute shinigami barged in and they’ve all been forced to think long and hard about the way their system works, about the way their system does not work. has never worked. and they know, oh, they know. the winds of change are blowing and they can only hope they withstand the force of it all.  
  
_15\. order_  
time for war. it was war even before the order was given, had been war since aizen decided to wage one and everyone knew it, none more so than her. war and casualties. consequences of their positions. it’s the one order she doesn’t want to follow and the one order she must, above all else. _don’t die._  
  
_16\. thanks_  
he never says thank you. she doesn’t find it rude, because she never does either. it’s too silly for them, too unnecessary. his orders are given as captain and his requests are given as hitsugaya. he’s only ever needed to ask and she will follow him anywhere, and that’s expected of a lieutenant. what’s not expected is the reverse: he’s never said it, but he’ll never leave her side. to thank someone for that is nearly an insult; gratitude is too heavy a burden to bear.  
  
_17\. look_  
such softness in those pretty blue eyes, she doesn’t know how anyone thinks he’s cold. oh, he’s a rude little brat, torn somewhere between a childish teenager and a bitter old man, always trying to be more mature than he is. and oh, she’s seen him on the battlefield, a glare that could kill and a sword that does. but _oh,_ she’s seen him sip his favorite green tea, a barely-there smile on his face. she’s seen him monitoring the squad, pouring over paperwork so everything runs smoothly, throwing himself into making sure everyone comes back alive. there’s kindness in every fibre of his being, if anyone would just bother to _look._  
  
_18\. summer_  
there’s children playing outside. that isn’t remarkable; it’s summertime and they’re young, of course they’re playing outside. rangiku doesn’t even like children, doesn’t like how messy and noisy they usually are. but they laugh so light and free and it makes something inside of her ache, reminds her why she’s fighting. summertime’s wretched heat wouldn’t be the same without annoying, childish, innocent shrieks.  
  
_19\. transformation_  
the day she pulls him forward and his head knocks against her chin this time is the day she’ll remember as tipping the scales. she looks at him then, really looks for the first time in ages and wonders where the time goes. hitsugaya stands taller, prouder, wearier, wiser. was it really so long ago he was only a third seat? his eyes are warmer now, or maybe it’s just the angle, her face too close to his.  
  
_20\. tremble_  
he’s shaking ever so slightly when he finally corners her, mutters against her neck that he can't do this anymore and she marvels at how silly they both were to have waited so long. he tastes like winter and it reminds her of the hot chocolate he gave her so many years ago, reminds her of home.  
  
_21\. sunset_  
the world of the living is so scenic. its fashion, its scenery, its people. aesthetic is clearly ranked quite highly, something the soul society has little appreciation for. hitsugaya scolds her for getting too caught up in it, and does a poor job of hiding the blush on his face when she catches him admiring the sunset. it reminds him of home, he doesn’t say. he looks at her and he doesn’t have to.  
  
_22\. mad_  
they bicker so often that half the squad thinks they got married while no one was looking and the other half is surprised one of them hasn’t quit yet. the truth of it is that it’s just how they mingle and there’s a certain kind of freedom in it. no matter how heated the argument, they’ll be fine. there’s a comfort in every teasing comment and they wouldn't have it any other way; the squad just wishes they’d keep it down more at night.  
  
_23\. thousand_  
it’s aged them, he thinks. how ironic. he’d always thought of himself as an old soul anyway, but this is different, weariness born of so much crammed into so little time, etched into every fibre of their being. the clock ticks the same but it feels so much slower now, and too fast all at once. he’s barely a hundred but the ache in his bones already won’t fade.  
  
_24\. outside_  
the most startling realization comes from a visit to an outer district. a silly errand a captain shouldn’t be running, but the squad member was sick and he’d wanted some fresh air. oh, outside the seireitei it’s always different, he knows, he grew up in an area not too unlike this. but they’ve been preparing for _war,_  for chaos and death. they’ve been to hueco mundo, and hueco mundo had come to _them_ and it’s been _hell_ and yet. out here, it’s almost like nothing is wrong. the higher-ups do very good cover jobs, it seems. the watermelon he buys tastes bitter.  
  
_25\. winter_  
it’s strange, if rangiku thinks about it, that winter is considered an end. to her, it has always been a beginning.  
  
_26\. diamond_  
does war forge soldiers, or do soldiers make the wars? apathy settles heavy on tired shoulders and they wonder if it matters. you either harden your resolve or crumble under pressure and they cannot afford to crumble. say, what happens to all the minerals that don’t become diamonds? no one remembers the dust.  
  
_27\. letters_  
her handwriting is _atrocious._ it’s such a funny thing to fight about when he does the paperwork day in and day out but her reports are barely legible. loopy scrawl is one thing, but this isn’t even a language known to man. she scrawls kanji on his forehead in retaliation and somehow they end up kissing on his desk and he blames her for the mess, of course. he doesn’t remember the ink for hours and when he goes to scrub it off, he almost keeps it. 大好き: _i love you._  
  
_28\. promise_  
not an order, because it cannot be. _stay safe_ isn’t the same as _be cautious_ because that priority is for the mission and their priority is just for each other but this is war, this is war, this is war and no one is safe. but they promise anyway, whispered vows into a too-tight embrace. _i will._  
  
_29\. simple_  
and it’s over. incredibly, unbelievably, it’s over. it almost seems too easy, the first time in years that things have simply been _over._  there is no looming threat. there is no sousuke aizen hiding around the corner, there is no sudden invasion of quincy. oh, it’s not as simple as that. so many died for this victory. _they_ died for this victory, brought back through means they prefer not to think too hard about. the repairs will take time, and the entire structure is different now. a new era is dawning. but it’s really over. for the first time in a long time, they can _breathe._  
  
_30\. future_  
it’s funny, looking back. almost like they’ve just always been there. hard to pick a day from the past that isn’t painted in shades of ashy orange and icy blue, hard to see a future that doesn’t include both. when they kiss, it feels like a beginning all over again.


End file.
